


It's a Nice Day

by minkmix



Category: Dark Angel (TV)
Genre: Platonic Relationships, Protective Alec, can we hear som billy idol up in here, its a nice day for an orange wedding, its a nice day to starttttttttttttttt againnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:11:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkmix/pseuds/minkmix
Summary: I like to wear safety orange. Or be what Cindy has to be.  Good thing for back up dates.





	It's a Nice Day

The young man hesitated when she stepped boldly forward instead of backing away.

“What the hell are you lookin’ at?”

Cindy gave the doper a full up and down before she crossed her arms. Her trusty glare usually worked better than flashing a can of that new incendiary chemical mace but today it wasn’t doing its job. The kid with the suspiciously cheap rock to sell wasn’t intimidated by her in the slightest way. He wiped his runny nose with the back of a sleeve before considering the cheerful white basket woven purse hanging from her elbow. Cindy narrowed her eyes. If this little fucker thought he was getting some $5 lip gloss, cheap powder compact and a dead phone, it was going to be over her very stiff corpse.

After a defiant middle finger, he swung around and took off through the bustling crowd of pedestrians. A roving sector cop turning the corner and the light drizzle of rain urged him towards more private and drier places. Stepping under the plastic dome bubble of the bus stop, she watched as the pavement quickly became dotted with rain. It was nice to not have to worry about the hour long project that was her hairdo, but the concession of being forced into the open door urinal for every street resident on the block was not improving her mood.

Smoothing down the front of her dress she tried not to notice that its hem puffed out about a good two feet from her knees because of some tailor’s over abundant abuse of frill on the petticoat. She bit at her upper lip and attempted with all her might not to be aware that the glaring orange taffeta was identical to the shade of the neon traffic cones that lined the sidewalk. As the clock in the drugstore across the street crept closer to the hour, she wished she’d packed a flask in the little buckle purse. She had five minutes tops before she had to give up and go inside. Shifting uncomfortably in her dyed satin heels, she desperately searched the masses one more time for a familiar face.

To her flustered disappointment she found none.

The tacky dress was in place, the painful shoes matched, all the accessories were in agonizing order but one. Spotting a decent looking stranger passing by in a mostly clean suit she took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

“Hey you?” Cindy smiled to ease his affronted confusion. “Wanna make forty bucks?”

The guy looked ready to shrug her off until he caught sight of the two crumpled twenties in her hand. Cindy blissfully saw all her troubles about to end with that look of promise in his eyes. He was going to take the money and do the job. All she had to do was flesh out a few details and all would be well and good. Problem solved once again by the power of the almighty dollar—

She blinked in shock when the man happily taking the last of her paycheck was suddenly thrown down onto the wet cement. It took her a full second to figure out he hadn’t put himself there. It took another startling moment to realize who had.

Alec was standing over the guy and sending another punch right down into his extremely shocked face.

Cindy dazedly found her voice and used it, shrilly.

“STOP.”

The descending fist miraculously halted about an inch from the cringing stranger’s already bloody nose. Cindy wobbled down awkwardly in her short dress and high heels. With a groan she hauled the stunned man up to unsteady feet. She pushed him on his way down the sidewalk and away from any more physical abuse from the agitated transgenic.

“S-Sorry about that!” She called out at his hasty departure. “Thanks anyway?”

Stowing her profound relief at Alec’s presence, she didn’t even care that the man had hurriedly scrambled off with her money still in his possession. It was the least she could do for a few loose teeth.

Alec was bouncing in place but was reluctantly kept in check by her formidably manicured hand. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, she thought maybe his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. A winded transgenic about to fall over wasn’t a very common sight. Cindy wondered if he had run the entire 32 blocks to her location.

“Who was that!?” Alec breathlessly demanded. “Was he mugging you?! Were you being mugged!? What happened? Where are we?! Your phone cut out before—”

She removed her hand and held it up over his mouth.

Cindy knew she should have probably anticipated questions considering she’d called him in an incoherent panic and hadn’t explained jack. With about 10 seconds left on a waning cell battery, she had frantically shouted all the info Alec required to know for her immediate concerns. However, she didn’t feel like providing a lengthy clarification for his benefit and none of it was really any of his business anyway. All he’d needed to do was get his genetically expeditious ass to a mysterious address like his life depended on it and not go complicating her universe with asking why.

“Sugar, I’d write you a report but we ain’t got the time.“

She held out her laced fingerless gloved hand. The plan was to drag Alec behind her like a crazy person and hope to god that the doors across the street weren’t already locked. Instead of taking her lead, he backed up a short distance away and studied her in much the same way the adolescent drug dealer had.

"What the hell is that?"

The steady hand of the clock made her simmering anxiety threaten to boil over. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath.

"It's called 'mango punch'." Cindy patiently recited the official color of the fabric she was currently blinding innocent bystanders with. “Now can we just go—“

"Used to wear ‘mango punch’ on the firing range to avoid getting shot."

"Then it's a good thing I wore it downtown then, huh?”

Alec hadn't exactly been her first choice.

The man that was supposed to be standing in front of her had been unexpectedly detained by police in relation to an alleged cock fighting ring. It just so happened that Alec was the only guy she knew that could be anywhere within five minutes worth of notice. Alec also happened to be the only other male she knew period. Sketchy totally didn’t count and Logan simply wasn’t the type she’d call up for favors. Help with her taxes maybe, but not anything like this gig. This business necessitated subservience and an ability to do as one was told. With a frown, she wondered how that criteria had placed Alec on top of her brilliant idea list. Nevertheless, she had to admit that even considering all the usual irksome particulars, the boy was certainly timely.

“You ever been to a weddin’?” She asked.

“Huh?” Alec was still flexing his fists and searching the crowd. “What?”

“Lady in a veil, man in a tux, bells and rice?”

“Oh.” He calmed down enough to consider the inquiry. “Went to a funeral once?”

“Well it’s your lucky day, Alec.”

Suddenly remembering the corsage, she unpinned the extra drooping hibiscus from her wrist and quickly grabbed Alec by the jacket.

“Your very first wedding and you gotta killa date.”

He watched her attach the large flower with growing baffled apprehension. It seemed kind of fair. She hadn’t known she was going to be here either when she woke up that morning. She sure didn’t think she’d be madly in need of something boobless at her side to pretend to be her escort. Cindy’s current slam piece was a little too on the female side to satisfy a cousin that had recently been reborn into the arms of our Lord Jesus Christ.

“Why do I have to go?” Alec mumbled. “What’s wrong with Max?”

Cindy studied him for a moment before deciding that the boy wasn’t that stupid. His interior concept of civil rights was just exceptionally evolved. Or charmingly naïve. On principal, she wasn’t too big on putting on appearances but facing a hyperventilating bride on her special day could make even the most stoic liberal waver. After an entire herd of bridesmaids had been wiped out with food poisoning Cindy’s distant relation had very few options left. Served them all right for having their stupid bachelorette party catered at Crash. No one ate anything served there that wasn’t hygienically sterilized in alcohol. She looked back down at her glowing dress with a sigh.

If Cindy didn’t already owe said cousin about five-hundred bucks it would have been a little harder to swallow back her pride.

She clutched her ugly purse and finally took stock of Alec’s end of the work day appearance. It wasn’t fantastic but it was all she had at the moment. Besides, her reborn cousin’s prior profession was spent as a 9 to 5 moderately priced prostitute working out of a stripped minivan. If that didn’t begrudge some understanding of informality, then nothing could. Cindy shoved Alec’s shirt into his jeans, ran a hand through his hair and called it a day.

“Let’s go.” She ordered. “Stand in the front row and don’t talk.”

Alec started to walk resignedly towards the broad stone steps that lead into the old cathedral that took up half the street.

“No, no, not that way!” Cindy said impatiently. “Over there!”

He looked across the intersection at the neon blinking sign that advertised discount packages on marriages, deeds and wills.

“It’s real nice inside.” She lied. “There’s a little arch with flowers on it and everything.”

“Will there be crying?” Alec asked hopefully. “In movies people always cry.”

"Hells yeah." Cindy promised. "What's a wedding without a little drama?"

"And cake?"

She knew the majority of the event’s budget had been blown on yards of shimmering safety orange but she thought there might be at least a plate of donuts afterwards for the reception at the bar next door. Stepping off the curb, she withheld a curse as a spiked heel wedged nicely into a crack in the asphalt.

“We can dream, honey.”


End file.
